The Constellations (remind me of you)
by SpockoYo
Summary: "You're a brilliant writer." "Yeah, well, you're a brilliant therapist." A bright smile was sent his way, and all Jean could think was that goddamn. That smile was beautiful. -Reincarnation/Modern AU-


_There was fire before his eyes. It was burning, igniting, killing. Naturally, anyone would be absolutely terrified at the sight of the raging fire that fought against the pelting, relentless rain that poured down the bloody, scorched world that he stood upon, yet he wasn't. It was the sight that stood before him that was terrifying...the sight of giant teeth clamping down on a head and dragging it off of the body in its hand. He wasn't sure if he was screaming when he saw the sight or if it was simply the rain, yet he was suddenly taking quick steps backwards, shooting up into the sky with the rain now biting._

_His breaths were quick along with is movements, attempting to get away and relocate with...who? Who was he trying to meet up with again? He couldn't remember as he shook his head rapidly, trying to keep a clear mind as he flew through the air. It wasn't until he found himself being grabbed with a tremendous force that stole the already labored breath from his lungs, a crack resonating throughout the air as he felt something within him splinter. A loud cry was ripped from his throat, yet he subdued any other noise that may have escaped him when he saw the twisted, large face before him. The lips were twisted upwards, and the memory of the fellow comrade having his head ripped off of his neck returned to his attention._

_It wasn't until he found himself being brought towards an open mouth and was peering down a throat did he realize that he was thrashing, crying…_

Screaming.

Jean was screaming.

And crying.

And thrashing.

It all came back to him, rushing into comprehension all at once. His scream was cut off when he found himself sitting upright in a mess of tangled sheets, sweat and tears. The first sight that met his eyes was the world that lived beyond his window, yet it did anything but calm him. His breathing continued to remain labored, even as he felt the initial panic flutter away as he fell back onto his back, raking a hand through his sweaty hair with wide, haunted eyes.

One year.

This had been happening for a whole, goddamn year.

He had been seeing other people that he considered friends, comrades being eaten by gigantic cannibals that showed absolutely no comprehension that maybe eating humans wasn't the best course of action, or that it was wrong in the first place. Jean had quickly figured out that something was wrong with whatever the hell those giants were, and that though some of them were smart, others sure as hell weren't. Either way, none of them showed any mercy to humans. And he couldn't understand why and couldn't begin to understand why.

Jean rubbed his eyes as his breathing slowly became calm, eventually resorting to just laying there with his thoughts drowning him as the sound of traffic offered little comfort to his current situation. It wasn't until he removed his fingers to stare at the white ceiling did he realize that his palms were wet, along with the area around his eyes.

Of fucking course.

He was crying.

Frowning, he quickly wiped at his eyes with his bare arms. Yet when he saw the state of his arms, bruises and cuts from thrashing and falling and tripping from the lack of sleep marking his skin, he stopped to glare at them. It was only when he heard the sound of rain hitting the ground outside of his apartment did he move his gaze to the land outside of his window.

However, Jean didn't see the headlights of cars rushing along, of the coffee shop across the street bustling with customers despite the early time, or even the man that walked with two other people at this hour.

He only saw the giant teeth, the person screaming and struggling, and finally, their head being ripped off.

It was all Jean could really see at this point.

_Freckles._

Jean remembered freckles when he woke up screaming one week later, flailing and thrashing to the point where he fell onto the ground, slamming his head on the floorboards with full force. His screams were cut off by the sound of loud groans and curses as he curled up into a fetal position, clutching his head with his eyes squeezed shut. Yet the fact that his eyes were shut did nothing to prevent hot tears from streaming down his face and down his neck, eventually wetting the floor as well.

Instead of getting back into his bed and staring at the ceiling for multiple hours as he usually did, he simply lay there, curled in a ball as he clutched his head, letting the tears flow instead of hastily wiping them away. Jean didn't open his eyes until the memory of seeing someone with freckles ripped in half flashed to attention.

So instead of staring up at the ceiling, he looked back out his window.

He wasn't surprised that when he looked out the window he saw rain pouring down.

_The air reeked of death, and he knew it was bad if he could pinpoint what death smelled like. He was thankful for the mask that covered his mouth and nose but it did little to block out the wretched smell that practically weighed down the air. It was to block out disease but he found a different kind of disease crawling up his throat as he saw dead bodies lining the streets, multiple bodies missing limbs, having chunks of their flesh taken out brutally, eyes glazed over with the mask of a pulse no longer there…_

_It wasn't until he saw freckles._

_It wasn't until he found himself sinking into...what was he sinking in? Regret? Guilt? Sorrow?_

_No...it was something so much more powerful._

_He was heartbroken._

He woke up mid scream, and choked on a sob as he sat up immediately, shooting up with wide, tear filled eyes. It was routine. He had grown so used to waking up at goddamn 5:30 am with burning eyes, a scream filled throat and a heaving chest. He had grown so used to being in complete emotional and physical agony when he woke up at this hour.

It wasn't routine for him to quickly scramble out of his bed, pull on sweatpants, tug on a hoodie then struggle into tennis shoes. Before he knew it, he was taking the elevator down to the lobby.

He was running through the streets with rain pelting his face.

He was tripping and falling when he skidded into an alleyway.

He was looking up at the teary sky with half closed eyes, mouth slightly open as he felt his shoulders tremble.

Oh how he wished he could see those stars, those constellations, to see those...those…

_Freckles._

It wasn't long before Jean had the heels of his palms digging into his eyes that had its natural essence merging with raindrops.

When he woke up later that morning, he found himself still in the alleyway, the rain having slowed down to a drizzle. Jean found himself shivering, trying to snuggle inward on himself for warmth yet only found heavy, drenched clothes sticking to his skin.

He didn't know how long he remained there, yet found that trying to leave was more painful than staying. It wasn't until he found a warm jacket draped over his shoulders did he look up only to see a blurry face in front of his. There was no way Jean could make out the details so he settled with lowering his head more, eyes fluttering shut.

_"You have to get up and move, Jean."_

He woke up alone, sitting in the alleyway, no coat draped over his shoulders.

A frown settled upon his face.

But he got up, and found himself walking back to his house with only one word stuck in his mind.

_Freckles._

He decided that stopping at the coffee shop didn't sound like such a bad idea.

"You look like absolute horse shit."

Said man looked up from the coffee cup in his hand with a raised eyebrow, challenging the scrawny teen that stood before him to continue doing so. "What the hell did you say?" he muttered, now glaring.

The teen narrowed his eyes down at Jean. "You look like your death itself, horse face, which isn't that different from how you usually look, but you also look like you're waiting for death to take you."

Jean glowered at him, about to stand up and walk away with his coffee when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked over to see blonde hair, and concerned blue eyes. "Jean, we're concerned," the short boy said and this time, the concern was actually audible instead of stupidity, which he had heard in the other teen's voice whenever he spoke.

He swallowed roughly, returning his gaze to his coffee. "Why the hell do you even care, anyways?" he muttered, taking a swig of the coffee and grimacing at the bitterness. Didn't he used to like this kind of coffee?

"You fell asleep here yesterday morning, the day before that, the day before that, the d-"

"Shut the fuck up, Jaeger." Point proven.

Something warm touched his forehead and Jean swiveled around to see the blonde one there, furrowed eyebrows. "There's a bruise."

"No shit, Armin." How could he be so stupid to take off his hood?

"Our point's proven. Go see a therapist and cry all your sorrows to them instead of sleeping have customers to worry about and not your sorry ass," Jaeger told him, beginning to walk away with a loud huff. Jean watched him walk away with narrowed eyes before feeling a pat on the back of his shoulder.

He turned around to see a smile from Armin, who turned around and began to walk away in order to continue working. Jean scowled and returned to stare down at his cup of coffee. It wasn't until he took another swig of the now bitter drink did he see a piece of paper with a name on it.

He quickly picked it up, and instantly began to swear under his breath as he looked around for Jaeger and his personal He-Man friend so that he could return the card to one and dump the coffee all over the other. Yet they were nowhere to be found.

A loud sigh escaped his lips as he raked another hand through his hair, taking another sip of his coffee as he read over the information. Despite the numerous letters that were printed on the paper, only two stood out to him the most.

Marco Bott.

Jean only looked up when it began to rain.

It was when Jean woke up choking on his tears, clutching his pillow with fingers digging so deeply in his arms that there was blood trickling down his skin did he look back to the business card that he had placed on the table beside his bed when he had returned home, drenched and cold and absolutely miserable.

He raked a single hand through his hair, slumping back with wild, wide eyes as he breathed through his nose and exhaled through his mouth.

It was only when it began to rain did he pick up the phone and make an appointment.

Saying that Jean was nervous was an understatement.

Jean was about to hurl because he wasn't sure that telling someone that he had dreams where he saw people that he could've sworn he knew getting eaten by gigantic cannibals was a wise decision. He didn't really wish to end up in a mental asylum, but he was sick and tired of waking up at ungodly hours with his throat dry and rough, face wet with tears and body tangled in sheets wet with his sweat.

He swallowed roughly.

Jean barely even comprehended that his name was being announced by the receptionist, who gave him an icy smile. Her blue eyes made Jean falter in his step, his fists clench when he saw the blonde hair and his heart plummet when he read her name.

_Annie._

Something was wrong, but he couldn't tell what it was.

What was wrong?

He continued walking yet felt those eyes on his back as he moved forward, fists still clenched, eyes still narrow and heart still heavy.

He found his answer when he knocked on a door with a heavy heart and a tight throat.

_Everything was wrong._

Jean sat there for a few moments, eyes trained on the ground, fingers curled up in the fabric of his soaked jeans, heart beating faster than he assumed was healthy. There was the sound of rain outside, of the tapping of a pen against a writing pad, and of soft humming that somewhat soothed Jean's fast heart. It wasn't until a comforting voice said, "Do you like the rain?" did he actually move.

Instinctively, Jean's head shot up to look outside the window of the warm room that smelled of coffee and pinecones and was met with the sight of rain pounding against the window. He frowned for a moment before cringing when he saw that damn cannibal again, ripping off that innocent person's head… His fingers curled into the fabric of his pants even more.

There was a noise from the man that sat across from him, and he moved his gaze towards the man who was writing something in a notepad. He couldn't see his face and scowled even more, yet the scowl was subdued ever so slightly when rich brown eyes peeked out from above the notepad, brightening immensely as the notepad was dragged down to reveal a wonderful grin that made Jean forget the nightmares almost instantly. "Ah! You're looking up!" he cheered happily. Jean furrowed his eyebrows making the man across from him pout. He looked back down to the ground yet continued frowning. "You scowl a lot, don't you?" he asked.

A simple nod was his answer.

Yet the answer seemed to satisfy the other man. "You should smile! I've heard it makes you happier than scowling."

"I'm not happy though." It was a mutter but it was strong enough to break his personal silence, and the man before him watched him with a pleased look on his features before nodding with understanding.

"And that's why you're here." Not a question, just a simple statement that hung between the two. Jean looked up at the man and watched him carefully for a moment before nodding again, moving his gaze back to the ground as he swallowed roughly. He recognized those eyes...but where had he seen them…

A hand was suddenly in his vision, causing him to flinch instinctively. Jean's quickly looked up at the man with confusion who simply beamed at him. Slowly, he wrapped his own hand around the other's, who shook it firmly. "I'm Marco!"

_I know._

"I'm Jean."

None of them noticed that the rain had slowed to a drizzle.

He dreamt of the stars that night. Jean saw constellations lining the sky, mesmerized by the formation they built. Yet, it wasn't the stars that he saw, that he was mesmerized by.

When he felt warmth wrap around his hand, he looked over.

Only to see the constellation of freckles split in half.

A gasp was his alarm as he sat upright, eyes wide and heavy with unshed tears. He raked a hand through his hair, staring at the familiar ceiling for a moment before groaning loudly, dragging his hands down his face as he flopped down onto his bed, glaring at the sight above him.

He realized that he was purposefully looking away from the stars.

"Do you have a best friend?" Was the first thing asked of Jean when he sat down, who merely raised an eyebrow at his cheerful therapist (maybe friend?).

"Not again with the stupid qu-" He was interrupted.

"What's one of the strangest things you've ever done?"

"Come here." He rubbed the back of his head, rolling his eyes when Marco continued smiling at him with bright eyes.

"Do you believe in love?" It was a whisper this time.

That made Jean stop rubbing the back of his head, and simply stare at the man in front of him.

He didn't notice that Marco was staring right back.

That night, Jean woke up with his face dry, legs free of the sheets and throat being anything but hoarse. He raked a hand through his hair with a long sigh, glancing over at the alarm clock.

9:37 am.

It wasn't 5:30 am

Maybe this therapy wasn't such a bad thing after all.

"So Jean, what do you do for a living?" Marco asked later that day, legs crossed and pen tapping against his cheek. There was an interested look printed upon his features and how he could be interested in knowing Jean's job was beyond said man.

Jean shifted in his position slightly, debating between giving the full scoop or a blunt one. "I write." He instinctively chose blunt, clearly. Jean had never been one to go for the gooey, elaborate words and instead chose the ones that got the job done, the point across. It got him places, some of those places good and some of those places anything but good.

Marco tilted his head, tapping the pen against his lips now. "And what do you write about?"

Jean watched him for a moment before shrugging. "I used to write about war." Before the nightmares began. That thought wasn't spoken however. It was a better idea to leave it at that.

"Used to?"

Jean narrowed his eyes subtly. Well shit. Now he was caught in his own trap. "Well yeah…"

Silence.

"What happened to make you stop?"

Jean clenched his hands, biting down on his lip as he took steady breaths. All the memories of people running, of people getting stepped on, of seeing people he had trained with being killed mercilessly and barely being remembered, all of the deaths going for noth-

Something brushed against his arm, causing his head to shoot up with wide eyes. He found himself looking into concerned, familiar brown eyes. "Jean," he whispered. Something warm brushed against his face, underneath his eyes. He saw that it was Marco's finger, wet with his tears. Jean frowned again, quickly rubbing at his eyes and blushing a bright red. His eyes diverted to the ground and his fingers were biting into his legs through the fabric that covered them. "Jean." His eyes lifted up to see a soft smile. "Smile."

His lips twitched.

It was a start.

He dreamt of blank eyes with a slack jaw that night, and woke up with his eyes already wide open and his jaw open, a scream dying in his throat as he was welcomed with the sight of his all too familiar ceiling. A loud exhale was released from him as he covered his face with his hands, wiping at his eyes yet found that his eyes were dry, that no tears were present.

A frown made its way to his face, yet it wasn't one of anger, of traumatization. It was one of confusion as he slumped back in his bed, glancing over at the digital clock.

6:20.

He couldn't tell, but the ghost of a smile flickered to life upon his face.

It wasn't raining when he looked out the window.

"How much sleep do you usually get?" was the first sentence spoken to Jean when he sat down, eyebrows raising at the question directed to him. Marco simply stared at him with a curious glint in his eyes, an expression that revealed he was interested printed upon his expression and futures, pen tapping against his cheek while he hummed ever so softly and subtly.

Jean merely watched him for a moment before shrugging, crossing his arms and leaning back into the couch. "I dunno...enough." That was a lie. That was such a lie. He barely got any sleep at this point and if he did, it was haunted with those damn giant cannibals that chased him and his 'comrades' and showed absolutely no mercy, no comprehension of what they were other than food.

It made his stomach churn at the thought and memory of all he had seen in the last year of dealing with the nightmares that plagued his sleep with a passion.

The tapping of the pen stopped and so did the humming, and Jean could've sworn that the stare that the therapist held was narrowed. Marco shifted his position, and Jean subconsciously mirrored him, biting down on his lip due to the uncomfortable silence that burdened the air. "What's 'enough'?" Marco asked.

Well, _great._

Even Jean didn't truly know the answer. If he was lucky, he would get four hours of sleep yet on a daily basis it ranged from an hour or two. The only energy source he had was coffee and even that was beginning to grow bitter. And sometimes even coffee wasn't enough. He'd crash on the couch of his apartment for multiple hours, and those nightmares…

Those nightmares were the worst.

Jean made careful work to never fall asleep during the day, to take naps, to do anything other than sleeping at 'normal' hours. He had enough pain and difficulties caused from the regular nightmares and didn't need anymore from the nightmares.

He swallowed roughly.

Jean settled for a simple shrug and avoided meeting those calculating eyes. "It depends."

"On what?"

He made the mistake of flashing what he assumed was a glare up at the freckle faced man, only to regret it when he saw the slightest hint of concern within the rich brown. Jean quickly diverted his gaze. "On how much sleep I got before."

His response was a hum and Jean dared to look up once more, knowing that his time here was about to end for the day. He was met with the sight of a small smile and a nod of understanding. "Do you have trouble sleeping?"

The words shook him for a minute before he gave a slight nod. "Yeah...yeah, I do."

Marco simply watched him for a moment as he tapped the pen against his leg, nodding slightly before flashing a warm smile. "It'll get better though, don't worry." It was said so often and had always meant so little yet when Marco said it...Jean found himself believing the words as the silence fell over both, their gazes holding so little yet meaning so much.

Jean raked a hand through his hair, moving his gaze to the floorboards as usual. "I hope," he muttered.

"It will…I promise." There was a grin in his words, and when Jean looked up to see if there was a grin on his face that mirrored the one in his voice, he found that there was one. So ridiculous, he thought. So...different.

Before he could think even more, the grin brightened (Which he didn't know was even possibly considering how bright the grin was beforehand) and Marco began to ask him the ridiculous questions that made Jean exasperated-

_"What's your favorite color?"_

_"Green. I don't unders-"_

_"What's your favorite book?"_

_"Not Romeo and Jul-"_

_"What do you do for fun?"_

_"I don't know, drink coffee, jog-"_

_"Are you single?"_

_"I-"_

but his lips twitched anyways.

_He wasn't running._

_He wasn't screaming._

_The rain wasn't pouring down upon him._

_His eyes weren't witnessing cruelty, death, destruction, fear…_

_He saw the stars, instead._

_He felt absolute peace wash over him as he watched the stars._

_He felt warmth being radiated next to him._

_And when he heard the words "You're smiling" he looked over._

Jean woke up with his arm reached outward towards his ceiling, fingers desperately trying to grab something that wasn't there, that would never be there. There were no tears lining his skin, yet his throat was tight as he swallowed roughly, allowing his arm to thump down next to him as he slumped and relaxed into his bed.

4:35.

He wasn't tired yet found himself yawning, shifting his position on his bed and finding himself on his stomach, head in his hands as he gazed out his window.

When he looked outside, he saw the stars.

He won't admit it, but he soon found himself smiling at the stars.

The air was crisp and bitter. It bit at Jean's nose causing him to frown slightly, pulling up his red scarf to cover his face more. Goddamn, he thought. When did it become so cold? Instead of cursing to himself, he pulled down his scarf and took a gulp of his coffee, savoring the warmth as he leaned against the brick wall to look up at the clear sky. It wasn't a new act for Jean to do. When he woke up earlier than usual from a nightmare, he almost always found himself shrugging on a jacket and his shoes to walk over to the coffee shop.

He exhaled, and watch his breath transform into little white clouds that drifted into the night sky. And soon, he found himself watching the stars, right hand aching for some unknown reason.

"Jean!" a familiar voice softly exclaimed, stealing said man's attention from the stars. He quickly found himself staring at a bundled up, taller man in front of him, a large grin plastered on his freckled face.

"Marco?" he asked, voice a whisper among the silence. He gave the man in front of him a confused expression as the other continued to give him a pleased grin, slowly trudging over as the grin turned sheepish.

He watched Marco rub the back of his head as he stared at him with bright eyes. Jean found his strange that he found those eyes much more enticing than the night sky. The way they were so warm and welcoming, offering unspoken promises that Jean didn't even want at this point. He realized, observing those eyes, that he didn't want those promises of things getting better, of finally being 'okay' enough to the point where he didn't need to go and speak to him anymore.

Jean simply found himself wanting Marco.

It was then that Jean realized the two were watching each other and he felt his face heat up, hastily taking a sip of his coffee and choking when he realized how hot it was. He began to sputter, bending over as he coughed viciously which made the taller man rush over to him, hand on his shoulder as he asked if he was okay when his coughs became weaker. Jean simply nodded, standing up straight and nodding at Marco he merely smiled and sighed in relief.

"What are you doing out so early?" he asked him.

He smiled brightly and leaned against the brick wall of the alleyway they were located in, shoving his hands back into the safety and warmth of his pockets. "I was taking a jog," he answered simply, yet Jean raised his eyebrows at him, opening his mouth to further question him when he found himself being interrupted. "Well, what are you doing up so early?" There was a childish, curious glint to his expression yet upon further inspection, there was the therapeutic glint of concern present as well.

The memory of his most recent dream came back to him at full force, and he hastily, viciously ripped his gaze from his therapist, maybe his friend, and returned it to the sky. "I couldn't get back to sleep so I decided to get a coffee and watch the stars."

There was a soft hum beside him, yet he didn't turn to look. "Do you like stargazing?"

His lips twitched upwards. "I always have." And he felt as though the 'always' in his sentence did extend for that amount of time. It didn't unsettle him however. After all, he was having nightmares of his 'comrades' being viciously, brutally eaten by gigantic cannibals just a week ago. This was what he considered normal, and compared to the nightmares which he still considered 'normal' it was a break, and one he greeted wholeheartedly.

"The night sky sure is amazing isn't it?" Marco whispered, voice full of utter fascination.

It was then that Jean felt the strong, powerful warmth being radiated next to him, and he looked over.

And saw Marco.

It was only when he felt coldness brush against his skin did he realize a single tear had fallen.

That night he dreamed of letters being written into a tree, of a hand on his shoulder and his tears being wiped away. But when he looked over to see who was there, touching his shoulder and wiping away his tears, he saw no one.

He woke up slowly, brushed his teeth, took a piss then took a shower.

Only when he arrived in the city's Central Park and was standing in front of a tree with letters bore into its bark did he realize he was smiling.

"You don't look as tired as you used to," Marco told him when Jean sat down on the couch he had easily grown used to. Jean simply raised an eyebrow at him and Marco grinned sheepishly as he scratched the back of his head. "You looked really tired when you first came here. There were bags under your eyes and your posture said it all." He shrugged while maintaining the grin.

Jean swallowed roughly. Tell him or not? After all...wasn't that why he came here in the first place? He sighed. Fuck it. "I...had nightmares." He hoped that the 'had' in his sentence would remain permanent.

Marco watched him for a moment before nodding, relaxing in his own chair and crossing his arms. "Do you want to talk about these nightmares?" he asked, voice calm yet concerned. The concern in his voice was obvious but Jean didn't understand why he was concerned. Wasn't he just another person to provide money?

"I…" he trailed off, bending over and resting his elbows on his knees as he linked his fingers together. He rested his chin on top of his fingers, gaze focused on the floorboards. His eyebrows furrowed again. "I had them for over a year. Then I came here." Silence. And then...he exploded in a flurry of pain, horror, terror, regret, guilt. "There were my friends that I don't even know but they were friends and they were getting stepped on by these giant cannibals. They were getting eaten, ripped to shreds, murdered before my eyes and I didn't do anything. I couldn't do anything! Their limbs were chewed off along with their head and I didn't do anything except run! And then I would get caught and I'd wake up but then sometimes, I saw those dead bodies. I saw them lining the streets and infecting the air, burning in fires and bleeding out. But the worse part is waking up because you know those people but at the same time you don't. And you feel as though a friend was actually killed before your eyes and-"

A hand wrapped itself around Jean's arm. A finger drifted under his eyes, brushed against the skin for a second and drifted backwards. There were no words spoken as Jean hunched over, digging his hands into his scalp as the tears continued on their descent down his face. He barely noticed the hand on his back, rubbing circles as his shoulders shook uncontrollably, his sobs echoing throughout the room.

"You're here, Jean. Not there."

It was all he needed to hear for those tears of regret and horror to mingle with tears of relief.

_He was running. Oh God, was he running. His feet pounded against the ground as he ran as fast as he could, cursing under his breath as he tried to shoot a grapple into a nearby building so that he could get free. So he could escape this damned beast and kill it before someone else got killed. Before more people died. Before more deaths went to waste. It was only when he moved his gaze to the roofs of multiple houses that he sprinted by did the situation dawn upon him. Where was he? He was supposed to be standing on a roof nearby, ready to fight and to relocate with...who?_

_Who the hell was he relocating with?!_

_He shook his head, turning a corner and skidding a bit before stopping in his tracks completely. Not again. Not again. Someone was being lifted towards an open mouth, the mouth clamping down, dragging their head off. Except now, those eyes moved towards where he stood, staring at him with unmasked bliss and bloodlust. His eyes widened, and he took a step back only to find himself grabbed again, a loud crash bouncing off of the walls along with his loud scream of pure agony. He threw his head back as another scream was racked from his body, eyes squeezed together and body protesting against the hand it was trapped in._

_He only opened his eyes when he felt hot breath on his face._

_And saw bright blue eyes._

He found himself on the ground, eyes wide with tears streaking his skin and breathing labored with hiccups, gasps, sobs. It was only when he saw brown eyes and freckles did his sobbing falter. "Jean?" a worried voice asked, a hand reached for his face in which he watched with wide, fearful eyes. "Jean…"

"You're alive."

A confused expression crossed Marco's face, before a small, timid smile replaced the look. He nodded as he softly removed a tear from his face. "Yes, Jean. I'm alive."

It was all Jean needed to hear to start sobbing again, launching himself upward to drag the taller man down for a hug.

None of them noticed it was raining.

"You're a brilliant writer."

"Yeah, well, you're a brilliant therapist."

A bright smile was sent his way and all Jean could think was that _goddamn._

That smile was beautiful.

The next month was spent with no nightmares, and was instead occupied by dreams of sitting and watching others train, of laughing when others had to run and he and someone else didn't, of counting the number of freckles on a face he couldn't recall, of wishing for more, of falling in love…

It was only on the sixth morning did he open up his laptop and begin to type.

_People, who can't throw something important away, can never hope to change anything._

When he looked outside, he saw the sun.

There was no rain.

"I'm writing again."

There was a pleased grin sent his way along with a curious glint within those earth brown eyes. "That's great! What's it about?"

"Humanity fighting for what's right."

There was a pleased hum. "I'm sure you'll lead the writing world one day, Jean. You're fit for leading it. You know just what to do and when to do it." Jean diverted his gaze to the ground, trying to hide his blush. "Promise me one thing!"

"Hmm?" He looked up again and regretted it because Marco was crouched in front of him, a childish look upon his face. The man's pinky finger was held up in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at Marco. "Wha-"

"Promise me you'll never give up! You've been through a lot, but you've come so far. So promise me, you won't give up. No matter what happens."

He sent a long, speculative stare to Marco whose smile brightened and was extended into a grin.

"Promise…" Silence. "For me."

Jean wrapped his finger around Marco's.

_"I said that leadership suits you, didn't I?"_

_The smile upon his face made him grin._

When Jean woke up that morning, he found his mouth twisted upward into a grin. He found his mouth still twisted upwards as he walked to the bathroom, after he brushed his teeth, during his shower, as he made himself toast…

It wasn't until he was sitting in Marco's office did he realize he was still grinning.

And he didn't even stop after Marco told him he looked so much happier when doing so.

It wasn't until he saw those steel blue eyes following him as he walked out of the building did he stop grinning.

Jean took a sip of his coffee as he quickly typed away at his story, at his book. It was an important event, the one that would define it all. The one that meant the most to Jean and the one that he would make mean most to any and all readers. His fingers stopped mid sentence when he looked up to see Jaeger and Armin standing in front of him, one with raised eyebrows and the other with a pleased smile.

"You haven't been here in a while!" Armin chirped cheerfully, elbowing Jaeger when he muttered "You make it sound like a bad thing".

Jean simply shrugged, taking another gulp of his coffee and relaxing in his chair. "I've been busy," he replied with a bored tone in his voice. Busy thinking about that damned freckle face all the damn time.

Jaeger rolled his eyes. "Busy doing what? Auditioning for War Horse as the horse itself?"

That earned another elbow in the ribs from Armin who continued smiling down at Jean. "I'm really glad that you're doing better, Jean! I hope it stays that way too, and so does Eren!"

Jean moved his gaze to Eren, who glared at him. He opened his mouth to make a snarky comment but found himself moving his gaze over towards the nearby road when a loud yell and honk echoed throughout the air. It bounced off of the walls and Jean looked over to see the a body was rolling onto the ground.

The scowl returned as he stood up, the chair falling.

His heart beat faster than he thought was healthy, and he didn't understand why. Panic coursed through his veins and thoughts and he didn't understand why. He began to sprint over towards the scene and he didn't understand why. It was only when he pushed away all the people surrounding the area did he understand.

The memories all came rushing back to him. Of walking around, seeing dead bodies of people he once knew. Of finding his body split in half, of being absolutely shocked and heartbroken, of breaking down only to have to build himself back up.

Of the promise he made to himself.

He found a pinky finger being lifted up from where Marco lay, and a hoarse "Promise me" was heard before Jean found himself sinking, of thrashing against the strong arms of Armin and Eren and other pedestrians as Marco was brought upon the ambulance…

He thrashed, he cried…

And he screamed.

He screamed that night.

He screamed the night after that.

He screamed the night after that…

It wasn't rare for him to find himself hunched over in the alley with a coffee in his hand, gazing up at the stars with sullen, blank eyes. He never drank his coffee though, instead drinking in the sight of the stars, of all the words, of the all the possible life.

All he could do was cry, scream and thrash though in the desperate hopes that of all life, Marco's couldn't be taken. His just couldn't.

And from then on, he would find himself tracing the names in the tree with trembling, shaking hands, looking up at the stars yet again if they were still presenting themselves.

It was only when he woke up screaming with the sound of the phone ringing did he find himself not grasping coffee in the alley way, nor tracing the letters in the tree with eyes drifting to the sky.

"He's okay."

It wasn't until he arrived at the hospital did he realize he was crying.

"You're soaked." Marco's voice was tired, pained and concerned. Concerned for Jean.

Jean simply looked down at his drenched clothing and looked back at Marco, who was watching him with a small smile. The entire right side of his face was cut, bandaged, stitched yet Jean still found the man beautiful beyond words, beyond comprehension. "It was raining."

"You're tired." More concern.

"Sleeping is difficult."

"Because of me."

Something snapped in Jean.

He suddenly found himself on his feet, mouth open and ready to yell but found himself crumbling. He sank back into the chair, eyes wide and horrified when he looked at Marco with wide, haunted eyes that saw something that wasn't there. What Jean saw wasn't even known by the man himself. "You're here." It was a breathless whisper.

A nod.

"You're alive." It was him breathlessly reassuring himself.

A smile. "Yes, Jean. And so are you."

Jean's lips twitched.

_I know._

None of them noticed the rain slowing to a drizzle outside of the room.

None of them noticed that their hands had naturally found each other's and that their fingers were linked together, desperately holding onto one another.

And none of them noticed them noticed the figure with steel blue eyes moving from its spot on the wall outside the room.


End file.
